Lovely little Red.

Honey, how’d you get so lost?

A wrong turn and heavy heart,

Led you down this cold, dark way.

So, what will you do?

Don’t try and run away,

Catching you is child’s play.

Sweet little Red.

My fangs have a taste for you,

All the better to tear right through.

It was a meaningless song.

A collection of high-energy beats pulsing through the floors and walls like the vibrations of a frightened heart. Electronic waves of sweet words dipped in a malice melody threatening Ethan’s body with a rush of unwanted longing for the man who sang them.

In a tipsy state of lust and denial, Ethan watched Peter sing with Leslie from his seat. The two of them lost in the music, in their world of pressed bodies and rhythmic movements hellbent on driving each other to the edge of ecstasy.

Peter’s hands left Leslie’s hips, sliding up her curves as he sang honeyed-lyrics into her ear. It brought a cruel-red smile to her lips, and she glanced back at him through thick lashes shadowed with exhaustion and darkness. Her ass bumped and slow-grinded into his groin, making circles and summoning the swell beneath his pants.

Ethan’s grip tightened against the arm of his chair, and his hips stirred in a glimmer of arousal he didn’t want but craved more than anything else.

Leslie turned in Peter’s arms—lifting her hands to touch his face and releasing a siren’s voice that sought to drown him in seduction—

Ah, Master Wolf.

What a big, bad thing you crave.

As the night falls from above,

I’ll lay in my forest grave.

—but failing to so amidst her carelessness.

Hours of conversation and drinking caused a shift in her control, and she lost herself, continuing to sip on Peter’s charm while ignoring Ethan’s worldless warnings.

But, he could do nothing.

Not now, not without Peter noticing.

He finished his beer, listening to Leslie sing, and as she did, Ethan’s body went involuntarily stiff when those amber eyes peered into the shadows of his corner. 

Peter smiled.

Ethan’s heart skipped. 

“I’ll be right back,” He stood and left the room, fleeing without confirming if Leslie heard him and seeking to escape from the weight of Peter’s stare.

The mists of inebriation devoured Ethan’s train of thought, and he cursed himself for being too weak-minded tonight. It was almost time to go live, and Leslie was practically useless, having fallen into an embarrassing state of disorderliness that made Ethan want to cut her throat.

Panic, irritation, longing, fury—a heady mixture of emotions cutting through his veins and sobering him up as he made his way down the hall. And, somehow, the walls and carpet seemed to stretch into an unknown void, the mouth of a beast calling him forth.

And he felt a presence lifting behind him.

A shot of anxiety whipped his body around, and he swung in the air.

But there was nothing. Nothing but distant music and the ticking of an old grandfather clock lingering among him.

Ethan breathed, and his eyes narrowed at the light spilling from the sitting room where Leslie and Peter remained. 

For now, the feeling fled, but his anxiety was left behind for him to tame as he headed for the basement.

Focus. 

Tonight means everything. 

And by tomorrow night, everything will be a dream.

Down in the dark, Ethan didn’t bother with the lights. 

Instead, he lit a few candles and glanced over at the bed they brought to replace the chair from their last kill.

Death waited in presence, breathing heavily into the cold, thick air, as Ethan tried shaking away the arousal. There was too much at stake for him to be so inept and senseless. 

Ethan took a seat at the computer, typing by candlelight and watching as the screen load.

The server opened, and a small window appeared, revealing the silhouette of a horned figure carrying the eyeshine of an animal in the night.

“Name and auctioneer?” Its voice fell like an intrusion of cockroaches, slipping through shadows in a disgusting crawl of words that made Ethan want to gasp in disgust.

“Ethan Ko. The Master.” He whispered.

The faceless figure sat silent for several, too-heavy heartbeats before it nodded.

“Twenty minutes and you may begin. Have a nice showing.”

The screen dimmed into a state of idealness that would linger until everything started, and even then, it would stay to guarantee the victim’s ignorance.

Ethan leaned back, rubbing his face with a hard inhale and craving a shot of whiskey.

He stood and turned.

A jolt of fear forced him back a step, and he gasped, seeing Peter standing in the candlelight.

He smiled.

“You were taking so long,” He said. “I got a little worried.”

A roll of panic set in, a suspicion that almost drove Ethan to attack the man right then, but it’d be unwise—Peter was too aware and too strong to be taken down by force. He drank little to nothing, perhaps enough to brush his senses with glee, but nowhere near enough to hinder him.

What did you see?

Ethan cleared his throat softly and motioned for the computer.

“Sorry, I forgot about an email I needed to send out.”

Did he hear?

Peter was moving, walking around the basement, and stepping through the darkness as if he were made of it. 

Footsteps circled Ethan, prowling somewhere in the shadows near his hidden room, but he didn’t move. 

Then, those large hands—the same ones that’d given Leslie so much attention—found Ethan’s waist. Fingertips dug into his hips and pulled him close enough to feel the thick bulge rocking into his ass.

Smooth lips slid up the back of Ethan’s neck, gracing his skin with teasingly tender kisses that morphed into the sickly-sweet tasting of Peter’s tongue. And for a moment, a few seconds even, Ethan closed his eyes and inhaled a shiver.

“Thanks for inviting me,” His voice was a sin. “But, I didn’t come over to play the good guest all night.”

The darkened, mischievous tilt in Peter's tone caught him off guard. 

One hand grabbed Ethan’s face from behind, squeezing his cheeks like a child meant to be punished and forcing his neck at an angle so that their faces were closer.

“I came here to fuck you.”

And he devoured Ethan’s response with a painful kiss.